


Spinning Yawns

by breatheforeverypart



Series: Watson the Service Dog and his Partner-in-health, Bucky Barnes [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Gen, I am totally doing this myself, Insomnia, M/M, Sleep Deprivation, before Bucky is diagnosed with a seizure disorder, before Watson the Service Dog, couples who nap together stay together, crocheting is cool, pre-TBI treatment, yarn as a coping mechanism, yay yarn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 12:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24849922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breatheforeverypart/pseuds/breatheforeverypart
Summary: Three, four, five days without sleep left Captain America and the Winter Soldier delirious and ready to try anything.  Sam Wilson enters the apartment, armed with basic counseling knowledge and an idea.In a last ditch effort before sedation and medical intervention, Sam calls Laura to teach Bucky how to crochet.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Laura Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers
Series: Watson the Service Dog and his Partner-in-health, Bucky Barnes [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758628
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	Spinning Yawns

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I hope this story brings a bit of fluff to your day. If today is difficult for you, I wish you peace. Stay safe friends.

*** 

“How long?” Sam scratched his scalp absently as he peered around his friend’s super-soldier body. 

Steve tossed a tennis ball to Bucky, who caught it without breaking his stride. “Three days, maybe four.” 

Alarm bells began to toll in his brain. Sam shifted into work-mode. “Damn. Okay. Is he talking to you? What’s changed in his routine?” 

Holding up a finger, Steve retrieved and tossed plush football at his partner. Just like before, Bucky caught it and added it to the crook of his prosthetic. 

“Well, his sessions have increased from once a week to three times.” He continued. “Because of…you know.” Steve gestured towards the bathroom in their suite. 

Right. The ‘incident’, also known as the time Barnes had experienced such a severe series of flashbacks he had attempted to remove the HYDRA-sanctioned prosthetic. Sam swallowed hard at the memory, trying to settle his stomach. By the time he had arrived, the small room reeked of blood. Bucky had been slumped against the toilet, surrounded by shards of the mirror he’d broken. 

“Increasing the frequency of appointments is standard procedure for suicidal patients.” Sam parroted. His career as a social worker, combined with his own combat experience in the military made him uniquely qualified to assist in Sargent Barnes’ recovery. 

“He wasn’t trying to kill himself.” Steve snapped defensively, reaching for another ball. He selected a soft one, that he squeezed forcefully before throwing to the man wearing a hole in the floor. 

Sam smoothly changed the topic, ignoring Steve’s comment. His gaze followed his friend’s arm to a wicker basket of fidgets and grounding toys on the counter where they stood talking. “What’s all this?” He asked, genuinely curious. 

Bucky caught the dark blue stress ball and tucked next to the plush football in his elbow and continued to pace. Steve sighed. “If he catches what I throw, then I know he’s at least aware of me. If he misses one, he’s in a bad way.” 

“Huh.” Sam’s brow furrowed in thought. “Well, that’s something to work with.” He said diplomatically. 

He pulled a magnetized pad of paper from the fridge door. “Let’s start there. How did you figure out that trick?” 

Steve huffed a sarcastic laugh. “A week ago? He was sleep-walking in the kitchen. I guess I snuck up on him, he chucked an orange at me. He probably thought it was a grenade.” He blinked hard, as if trying to dislodge a painful memory. “I don’t know why, but I threw it back. He caught it and said my name like he used to. Been working ever since.” 

Selecting a squishy pink ball, he rolled it on the counter. “Better keep it up then.” 

***

The TV faded in an out of focus. The screen blurred as bright colors flashed. His eyes hurt. He wanted to rub at his face, smack himself for not paying attention. But his body would not cooperate. Was he in withdrawal again? Steve’s face appeared in his mind. His eyes leaked tears, but he confidently told Bucky that HYDRA was done. That he was safe now. Whatever that meant. 

“Fuck.” Natasha muttered as she pulled a knot of yarn the size of his fist from the center of a skein. 

Bucky squinted at her in the dim light. Natalia, his brain supplied the woman’s name. Where were they? Mission? No. He looked at his lap, a soft blanket covered his legs and the furniture was plush. 

He swore in Russian before switching to English. “No, this is Natasha.” He told himself loudly. 

“Guilty.” She confirmed, her hands pulling at the lump of hopelessly tangled yarn. “You with me James?” 

He nodded, forgetting to speak. 

Her eyes flicked to him and his mouth opened to respond automatically. “Yes.” 

“Good.” Natasha answered, her left hand tapping out a message on her smartphone. “Steve’s asleep. Sam’s in the kitchen.” 

“Time?” He asked hoarsely. His hand traveled to the gnarled mass of scar tissue between his prosthetic and shoulder. 

“Like 2.” Natasha rested her chin on a bent knee and growled at the yarn. “In the afternoon.” 

“Can I have…” He trailed off, losing the word for what he wanted in any language. His prosthetic reached for Natasha’s lap. 

She flinched initially, but her face relaxed as she came to understand his request. Natasha laughed and scooped up the mess in her hands. “All yours.” 

For the first time he could remember, both of his limbs worked in tandem towards a goal that did not involve murder. Natasha spoke, as did Sam. He was vaguely aware of Steve’s lips on his cheek. Something wet and warm against his face and Steve’s scent as he sat between him and Natasha. 

Bucky’s attention did not waver from the task at hand as he untangled the yarn. Patiently he looped great swaths of yarn over his crossed legs. Eventually Steve began to wind the untangled threads into a ball. They worked together in silence as Natasha slept beside them. 

***

“You want me to what?” Bucky looked skeptically at the contents of the basket in Sam’s hands. 

“Crochet.” The man confirmed. “This shit is awesome. Do you know how many afghans I have from my Grandma? We used to spend hours sorting squares and making blankets.” He smiled at the memory, tilting his head to re-focus on the current mission. 

He was having trouble wrapping his head around the concept of crafting. How could he create something? He was a weapon. An asset. “I bet they are lovely, but…“ Bucky sputtered, his brain cluttered with thoughts. 

Wilson plopped himself on the couch, placing the basket between them. “Just hear me out.” He raised his hands in what he hoped was a peaceful gesture. “The only time you’ve managed to sleep for more than a couple minutes at a time was last night.” 

Bucky frowned. “Don’t remember much about it.” He could not recall any real detail about the recent days or nights. Time was a funny concept when you weren’t able to sleep. 

“No shit Sherlock.” Sam continued. “Like I was saying, it’s been close to five days since you managed anything resembling REM sleep. You’re nearing the point of deprivation where we consider medical intervention.” 

At the word ‘medical’, Bucky ceased being able to process Sam’s speech. He was on his feet without a conscious effort. His body hummed with what his therapist called ‘fight or flight energy’. 

“Take a seat.” Sam directed, tossing him a ball of multi-colored smooth yarn. “That’s your handiwork. You and Steve untangled all of Nat’s problems. It gave me an idea.” 

Even in this state, Soldat registered orders and he found his ass slamming back against the cushion. “Crochet.” Bucky repeated. “Are you gonna teach me?” Wilson’s idea seemed about as realistic as Bucky being able to leave the apartment without having a panic attack. 

“Not me.” He beamed at the brilliance of his own idea. “Laura?” He announced, beckoning someone into the suite. 

Laura. Who was Laura? A brunette woman of small stature kicked off a pair of flats and made for the living room. This woman registered as familiar. 

“Hi!” She greeted, sliding a tote bag off of her shoulder. “It’s nice to officially meet you. I’m Laura Barton, Clint’s wife. I think I’ll have a lot easier time teaching you.” She chortled, her words bubbly and hopeful. 

“Why are you doing this?” He blurted. 

Laura laughed and handed him a hook of some kind. “I love to make things, don’t you?” 

Bucky did not know. He barely had a grasp on his own reflection in a mirror. Actually, he was no longer allowed in the bathroom unsupervised after the incident last week. His fingers probed the seam of his permanent prosthetic. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll catch on real quick.” Laura gasped excitedly at the variety of skeins of yarn in the basket. “Let’s start you off with a light color. Which one?” She had a non-threatening way of asking him to choose. She smiled genuinely at him, not a trace of fear in her face. 

Without a moment to process the fact that a stranger sat less than a foot away from him, Bucky found himself totally immersed in learning how to crochet. 

Laura extracted all kinds of half-finished projects from her massive bag. She passed him scarves, shawls and hats. Bucky learned how to count rows and identify the foundational stitches. 

His brain craved information. Whether this hunger had always been a part of him, or it was a product of the Red Room and HYDRA he did not know. His hands moved awkwardly and Bucky shocked himself by letting Laura adjust his grip on the yarn and hook. 

“You’re ready!” She clapped. Bucky blinked at her dumbly, he had been engrossed in making perfectly even rows of double crochet stitches. “Let’s make a granny square. Then you can join them together to form a blanket, scarf, even a re-usable bag.” 

Seven completed squares lay on the coffee table in two rows. Laura praised him. Her words left g Bucky with a warm, but uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

The fourth time the hook slipped from his grasp, Laura had gently extracted the instrument. “It’ll be here when you wake.” 

“No.” He protested. He had a job. A mission. He wanted to keep learning, he could be perfect. 

“Mm.” She hushed, drawing a blanket from the back of the couch. “I’ll be right here starting you off on a lovely scarf. You’ve gotta be well-rested to learn the popcorn stitch.” 

“Kay.” He mumbled, his eyes already closing. 

***

Clint let out a whoop and pumped his fist above his head in triumph. His quiver of custom arrows rattled against his back with the sudden movement. 

“What?” Steve slowed his stride, jogging over to the archer. Clint hurried to unlock his phone, eager to show off the pictures that Laura had snapped. “I told you she’d be able to do it.” 

“He’s asleep?!” Steve panted, his face damp with exertion. Together, the men scrolled through a series of photos of Bucky is varying stages of learning stitches. The last three depicted an adorably buff ex-assassin curled up in a ball on the couch. Laura’s hand could be seen resting on his thigh and Steve almost burst into tears with relief. He was safe. He was sleeping. 

Sam released the chin-up bar and wiped his sweaty hands on his shorts. “Hell yeah!” He jogged over to the men. 

Steve sank into a squat. Fatigue slammed into his serum-fueled body like a truck. The adrenaline and fear that had fueled him for the past week disappeared. He could barely speak. “Thank her for me. She’s a miracle worker.” Stretching his limbs into a sort of starfish posture on the mat, he closed his eyes. 

“She has to be.” Sam agreed, pointing at Barton. “Especially since she’s managed to keep him alive.” 

Clint tilted a flat hand in a 50 / 50 gesture. “Eh. At this point, my well-being is split evenly between Nat and Laura.” 

A quiet snore punctuated the archer’s statement. Captain America’s chest rose and fell in even exchanges. His hand twitched as he fell further into sleep. 

Sam snapped several pictures before Clint tugged him towards the elevator. “JARVIS, dim the lights. Tell Rogers to take his time when he wakes.”

“Barnes is gonna love these.” Wilson laughed as he swiped through the photos of Steve passed out like a toddler in the center of the gym. “They really are the perfect couple.” 

“Couples who nap together, stay together.” Clint confirmed. “Send those to Nat, it’ll make her day.” The elevator hummed as the doors closed, leaving the Captain to a well-deserved rest.


End file.
